


Through Dark Drabbles, Clearly

by estepheia



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M, Male Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estepheia/pseuds/estepheia
Summary: More melancholy drabbles, some slash
Relationships: Angel/Spike (BtVS), Drusilla & Spike (BtVS), Ethan Rayne/Spike, Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers, Xander Harris/Spike
Kudos: 6





	Through Dark Drabbles, Clearly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tgray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgray/gifts), [Spiralleds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiralleds/gifts), [lynnenne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnenne/gifts).



> Naked - Angelus/Spike - slash - R - one of my first drabbles, written 2003  
> High Stakes - Spike/Ethan - PG13 - slash - for spiralleds  
> Solace - Spike/Xander slash - post-Chosen - PG-13 - futurefic for tgray  
> Tempest - Devon, England, 2003 - Buffy/Faith - femslash - post-Chosen - PG13 - for 10zlaine  
> Roomies - Spike/Xander - slash - R  
> Flirt - Angel/Spike - slash - PG13 - for lynnenne  
> Perfect - Spike/Drusilla - PG13ish - dark - for petzipellepingo  
> Almost - Spike - AtS - R  
> Home Alone - Buffy/Spike - PG - S5 - for awmp  
> Kiss of Life - Spike/Angel - PG13 - slash - post-NFA - for synful_trixx  
> Nostalgia - Spike - AtS post-NFA - PG  
> Unfinished Business - Spike/Faith - post-NFA - PG13

**Naked**

The chamber is lit by a hundred candles. A fire warms skin that hasn't quite lost the blush of afternoons spent on park benches scribbling verses into tatty notebooks.

Angelus can't write poetry but he can draw. His charcoal captures the curve of a lean hip, the plane of a flat stomach, the thin trail of hair leading to a half-hard shaft. Using his thumb Angelus carefully smudges a line here, a stroke there, until his model twitches impatiently.

"Be still, boy."

Blue eyes flash. "Make me."

Angelus smiles and reaches for the chains.

Sometimes deeds say more than words.

**High Stakes**

Spike knows the mage is cheating. Nobody is that good, not after knocking back half a bottle of booze. One Full House is nothing to write home about, but three in a row? That’s just the kind of luck people used to get tarred and feathered for.

Tossing back another drink, he squints at his three Jacks. Good enough to stay in the game, if only Ethan didn’t have that Full House lying face down in front of him. Spike recognizes the markings on the cards.

No fair, getting cheated with your own cards.

“Fold.”

Smirking, Ethan unbuckles his belt.

**Solace**

Sometimes, when he lies sated, spooning a body that's too bony to be anywhere near snugly – but who cares? – palm cupping a sharp hip-bone, lips touching the cool nape of Spike's neck, inhaling the subtle, unobtrusive scent of smooth, dry skin, Xander remembers the things he said to Anya. Ugly things. How she made him sick.

Words he can never take back now.

Now Xander's the one who's having sex with Spike. Yup, the universe sure is one big joke.

He wonders whether Anya is where Buffy was, and whether she can see them. Would she understand?

Xander thinks she would.

 **Tempest - Devon, England, 2003**

The pinto's mud-splattered flanks steam in the drizzle, but its rider defies the English weather. Faith jumps off, teeth gleaming, face flush with exhilaration, raindrops clinging to her dark curls like glistening beads. The soaked white tee shows off her breasts and nipples, hard and pert like cherry pits.

Dinner and Giles are forgotten, swept away with the gust of wind that knocks the umbrella from Buffy's hand, sending it hurtling across the pasture, unheeded.

They stumble against the horse, hands fighting with buttons and belts, desperate for skin, mouths locked in a tempestuous kiss, inseparable like thunder and lightning.

**Roomies**

There’s nothing wrong with teasing the weasel. It’s a guy thing. Even the undead have a monkey to spank. Hey, there‘s a bleak thought: playing with yourself for all eternity? Some kind of unlife.

Not that Xander has ever seen Spike at batting practice, not really, just that once, and only through lowered lids: Spike, sitting in Xander’s orange barcalounger, pants unbuttoned, his hand a pale blur.

Xander had faked sleep, desperate to keep his breathing even, while straining to listen to Spike‘s panting. Rock-hard.

Tonight there’s sobbing on the other side of the wall, and Xander’s cock stays soft.

**Flirt**

“Angel! Fancy finding you here!” Spike slips into his booth.

Angel stares at his drink. “Go away! Pretend you don’t know me.”

Beat.

“’Lo, Sunshine. Buy you a drink? Say, haven’t I seen you before?”

“Spike!”

“What?”

Thud! Something drops to the floor. Suddenly, a boot-less foot is unerringly sneaking up the inside of Angel’s leg, heading for his crotch.

Angel’s breath hitches.

“Now’s the time, cupcake. Either slap me in the face or invite me over for coffee.” Spike’s leer is so bright, it hurts

“Coffee?” Angel squeaks.

“Yeah, alright.” Spike shrugs, but his tongue curls behind gleaming teeth.

**Perfect**

Popcorn and cranberry garlands spilling from Dru’s sewing box? A new frock for Miss Edith? Spike knows the signs. 

Who cares if it’s hot outside? That the calendar claims it’s the end of August. The world’s full of fir trees, and for a few quid he can buy a gallon of turkey’s blood and lace it with cinnamon. As for decorations, all he has to do is pick a house and eat the owners. Nine times out of ten, they’ve plenty of Christmas trinkets in the cellar. Their bodies make good decorations, too. A perfect Victorian Christmas for his Princess.

**Almost**

Sucks bein' a ghostie. No booze, no wings, no blood...  
Granted, he gets to peek into everybody's closets, or to waylay Charlieboy in the john. Less of a riot than it sounds. Now, sneaking up on the old poof as he's having a wank under the shower, that never gets old, but truth is, without a monkey of his own to spank? Too much of a spectator sport.

One thing's worse, though, and that's watching Science Girl eat chocolate. Blissful, is what she looks like: eyes falling shut, lips pursed like petals….  
That's when he can almost taste it.

Almost.

**Home Alone**

The house is lifeless with Dawn sleeping over at Janice’s and Mom in hospital.

Buffy can’t see him, but she knows he’s there, lurking behind the tree. Slayer tinglies. Plus, she can smell his cigarettes.

This crush of Spike’s is insane. Slayers and soulless vampires are un-mixy.

Sooner or later Spike will get over it, and go back to trying to kill her. That’s okay, how it should be; but right now, she’s glad he’s there. Slayer or no, right now Buffy needs someone to watch over her - even if it’s just a chain-smoking vampire with a stupid, hopeless crush.

**Kiss of Life**

Angel wouldn’t have made it out of that alley if Spike hadn’t conked him and dragged him to safety. No point in dying. Fight another day and all that rot. Hell can wait.

But since that night, Angel’s broken. Not ‘cause his flesh won’t heal, where Smaug torch fried him, but because Angel believes he failed with a capital F. He’s got that one-foot-in-the-grave stare that Spike knows so well.

Miserable sod!

After suffering days of silent reproach, Spike slams him against a wall and crushes his mouth on Angel’s. Spike knows how to bring survivors back from the abyss.

**Nostalgia**

Spike misses L.A.

Not the Viper, the well-stocked W&H bar, or the otter-enhanced blood; and he sure doesn’t miss his shitty rat hole of a basement. What he does miss are the necro-tempered windows and the sun’s gentle warmth on his skin. This time he truly appreciated it, more than when he had the ring of Amara on his finger. This time he bathed in its brightness, soaked it up, drank his fill, knowing that sooner or later it would all end.

Most of all he misses the others. Gunn, Fred, Lorne, Percy. Even Angel.

Good times.

Over too soon.

**Unfinished Business**

Cleveland sucks. But where his prey hightails, Spike follows.

“You’re mighty spry for a lump of charcoal,” Faith greets him, after watching Spike pummel the Suvolte demon to a pulp. She hops off her front row gravestone and prowls towards him.

He ogles her leather-clad bottom, knowing she’d be insulted if he didn’t. No hardship there. She looks great. Beautiful. Happy.

“How’s Wood?”

“Principalling,” Faith shrugs and shanghais Spike’s smoke. “In Carmel.”

Well, now…

As he lights a new cigarette, their eyes meet. Mirth bubbles up like warm champagne.

“Care to…,” Faith muses.

“Pop?” Spike leers. “Thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
